


Human

by brightly_lit



Series: Feathers [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Comfort, M/M, Romance, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 19:31:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightly_lit/pseuds/brightly_lit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angels are perfect, obedient, devoid of free will.  They weren't made to withstand the pressures and choices of being human, but Castiel, stuck in the world with the gate to heaven closed, has no other option, and the weight of it is crushing him, ultimately leading him to have to make an agonizing decision.</p><p> </p><p>"Humans were born crying.  They were used to it.  To hear an angel driven to that was the eeriest, most horrifying sound Dean had ever heard."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Human

**Author's Note:**

> -I didn't plan on writing a sequel to "Feathers," but I do love wing kink and the way I set it up in that fic, and I got an idea for a sequel, so I went ahead with it. You can read and keep up with this one without reading the first part, but it would probably be a more enriching reading experience if you were familiar with what came before, so here's the URL to it (or you can find it on my list of works): http://archiveofourown.org/works/674207
> 
> -I saw a video on YouTube where Misha Collins (who plays Castiel) was talking about Destiel fanfic and a small subset of Destiel fic he seemed to find amusing that was "Dean/Cas/pie." I was highly entertained by the notion. I'm not actually a huge pie fan myself, but the whole idea brought up hilarious images in my head, so at that moment I decided I just had to include it in one of my Destiel fics one day if it didn't seem too ludicrous in context, and lo and behold, this one lent itself to it perfectly, what with Cas's obsession with fruit. So here you go, probably your first, and last, "Dean/Cas/pie" fic.

 

 

Something had to give.  It had been a week--a whole week!--since he’d had anything remotely close to sex with Cas.  Last night, Dean had finally begged him.  Cas looked surprised at the reminder that there was a thing called sex, then, as usual, agreed to it sweetly.  Dean had grabbed for a wing, and Cas, lying on his back, had promptly dropped it through the bed so Dean couldn’t reach it anymore, which Cas did whenever the extreme pleasure of that kind of touch was too much for him, as it often was when he was very tired, as he was last night.  So Dean had touched his body in more human ways, really getting himself going.  It was only when he returned to the upper half of Cas’s body and got almost no response to his hot and heavy kiss that he realized Cas was out and probably had been almost from the beginning.

 

Dean sidled up to where Cas stood at the kitchen counter, humming something that sounded like a dirge as he peeled and pitted peaches.  Cas had asked Dean not to touch his wings when they weren’t alone in their bedroom, because he couldn’t hide his immediate sensual response.  Dean could see Cas’s wings hanging at his sides in the position that denoted happiness and relaxation.  Dean moved gently up against his wing.  It flicked away automatically, like a cat’s ear when something unexpected tickles it.  Foiled, Dean put an arm around his waist and nuzzled his head.  “How goes it, Cas?”

 

“Wonderfully,” Cas replied, eyes brimming with the greatest contentment.  He showed Dean the pit of the peach he was holding.  “Twenty years ago, a pit just like this one was planted in the earth.  It took a long time, but it grew tall, and now it produces dozens of miracles exactly like this every year, which sustain life--plant, animal, bacterial ....  I will be able to bake seven pies from these peaches, or can thirty-two pints, or dehydrate several bags full ....”

 

“That’s so hot,” Dean murmured, rubbing his forehead against Cas’s cheek.  He felt Cas’s curious quirk of the head.  “Er, I mean, uh, you know ... great.  That’s so great.  Loves me some peaches.”  Dean grabbed a half a peach from the counter in front of Cas and swallowed it in three bites.  It made him suddenly desperate to smear the other half all over Cas’s body and lick the juice off slowly.  Cas went back to humming.  “Smoke on the Water,” Dean finally realized, and grinned victoriously.  Finally, Cas was developing some appreciation for the classics.

 

“Would you like to help?” Cas said, with all the excitement Dean wished he’d show for something else.

 

“Would you get done sooner?” Dean asked desperately.  This was what had been taking so much of Cas’s attention these past several days.  It was harvest time in his garden.  When Dean had dared to suggest he could put off the harvest for a couple of days, he was treated to an hours-long lecture on how quickly fruit ripens, harvest timing, the need to preserve the fruit as soon as possible after it’s picked, degrading nutrients over time, and something about unpleasant battles with squirrels and birds over the ripe fruit.  The lecture involved long digressions into homeopathic gardening techniques, a brief history of pest-control methods since the early hominids, harvest moons, planting moons, and some other kinds of moons, none of which made a lick of sense to Dean.  He’d been the one to fall asleep early that night, which fortunately didn’t bother Cas at all, who resumed the lecture as soon as they were awake the next day.

 

“Of course.  Many hands make light work.”

 

“Then I’ll go get Sam and Virginia,” Dean said too quickly, and went and found them.

 

“Why?” Sam said, not moving from where he sat at the table, doing research for work.

 

“Because I have to get laid!” Dean hissed.  “I’m dying, Sam.  Seriously.  Have I ever asked you for anything?  Don’t answer that.  Have I ever asked you for anything like this?”

 

Virginia shrugged and got up.  “I think it sounds fun.”  Sam reluctantly got up and followed her.

 

“Fun!  Yeah, fun, Sam!” Dean said, putting a brotherly arm around him and steering him toward the kitchen forcefully.  “Think of it as a, uh ... survival lesson, one dad never taught us: Living Off the Land.  Everyone needs to know how to do this, right Virginia?”

 

Virginia shook her head.  “Wow, Dean.  It’s like you’re in heat.”

 

“I haven’t seen you this bad since the Great Dry Spell of 1999,” Sam noted.  “You gonna be all right?”

 

“No!  It’s been a week!”

 

Sam looked confused, and entirely unsympathetic.

 

“It’s angel sex, Sam, I keep telling you.  It’s like a drug.  Oh, god, when will I get him to fuck me again?” Dean cried, clutching his hair.  “It’s like he’s forgotten how!”

 

“Have you tried asking?” Sam suggested, annoyingly sensible.

 

“Of course!  But it’s not the same when it isn’t his idea.”

 

“I know so way more than I ever needed to know about angel sex,” Sam murmured for the millionth time.

 

“All I need is to get him in bed before he’s so tired from peeling fruit all night that he can stay awake.  I’ll take it from there.”

 

Sam shook his head slightly, but he was smirking.  “Look!” Dean cried as Cas came into view.  “Many hands, Cas!  Your fruit’ll be all prepared or whatever in no time!”

 

Cas turned with a smile for Sam and Virginia, but corrected Dean:  “Oh, no, Dean.  I have a rather large vegetable garden that’s producing daily, and two each of several kinds of fruit tree.  My work harvesting and preparing food won’t be over until the first frost.  But it’ll be worth it, for I’ll have provided healthy food for our family that might last through spring.”  He looked so damn happy at the idea that Dean would have resigned himself to peeling fruit for another three weeks if his libido wasn’t screaming at him for relief.

 

Dean turned to Sam with a desperate rictus grin, forcing a laugh through his gritted teeth, and Sam patted his shoulder before going for the basket of peaches.  “How ... great!  How thoughtful.  Thanks, Cas,” Dean managed to squeak out.

 

“That’s really nice, Cas,” said Virginia more genuinely, picking up a plate and a paring knife.  “It’s great that maybe now Dean will have to eat more healthy.”  Ugh, she and Sam and the healthy eating.

 

“Yes,” Cas agreed. 

 

“Maybe we’ll even all go vegetarian!”  It was Sam who uttered this unthinkable sentence, and without a shred of remorse.

 

Dean gaped in horror.

 

“Red meat makes my vessel happy,” Cas said.  “I don’t think I’ll be giving it up, either.”

 

“See?” Dean gloated.  “Even the angel thinks it’d be crazy to go veggie.”

 

Virginia suggested they work on the porch, so they lugged plates and baskets of fruit out there and talked while they watched the sun set.  Dean had a family now.  Both he and Sam did.  A house, friends ....  Maybe, after a while, Sam and Virginia would have kids, and their family would grow.  Man, life really was good these days.  He saw the expression of absolute contentment on Cas’s face, concentrating as he peeled peaches, Sam and Virginia joking and laughing together, and suddenly felt, for the first time in his life, like everything was perfect.

 

Sam eyed the setting sun, and the basket still half full of peaches.  “Um ... you know what, why don’t you two go on and turn in early; Virginia and I can handle the rest.”

 

 “Best.  Brother.  Ever,” Dean mouthed to Sam with what probably looked like a crazed grin.  Sam gave him a lopsided smile.  Dean grabbed Cas’s arm and steered him upstairs.  Dean got them showered in record time and in bed by 8, and turned to Cas with an expectant look, at which Cas smiled absently.  “So ...,” Dean said, very suggestively, “what’re you thinkin’ about?”

 

“My garden.  My spinach crop was quite sparse this year, but my corn and beans did extremely well,” he bragged.

 

“Uh-huh,” Dean murmured, pushing up Cas’s shirt and rubbing his belly. 

 

Cas laid there, hands folded just below where Dean was rubbing, looking at the ceiling, smiling dreamily.  Dean moved Cas’s hands aside so he could touch him there, and started to kiss what skin was revealed by his askew shirt.  “There will be dozens of cans of corn.  Although ....”  He looked at Dean speculatively.  “I’ve read corn may be better when frozen, like many vegetables.  I was thinking ... would you mind if I acquired a deep freezer?  We can keep it in the basement; perhaps the garage.”

 

“Sure, whatever you want, baby,” Dean breathed in Cas’s ear.

 

“Excellent!” Cas crowed.  “I’ll get it right now!”  He disappeared.  Dean grabbed after him with a strangled cry, then rummaged in the sheets in disbelief.  He snatched his cell phone and called, but then he heard something heavy scraping along the cement floor of the garage.  Dean slumped back and stared at the ceiling in despair as he listened to voices wafting through the open window: Cas discussing in detail with Sam the perfect placement of the deep freezer in relation to the Impala in the garage.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Dean snuck through the kitchen doorway like a ninja.  Cas was at it again, this time humming Neil Diamond.  Dean paused to wince.  Classic rock from the ’70’s and ’80’s, Dean had told him.  Apparently, he would need to be more specific. 

 

Cas’s wings brushed lightly across the floor in time with his humming.  Dean really never thought he would stoop to something like this, but desperate times called for desperate measures.  Actually, he and Sam had had so many desperate times, Dean should be an expert on desperate measures by now, but somehow he and Sam had seldom engaged in any, and when they did, they were usually sorry--Sam’s demon-blood thing, for instance.  Still, this was the one and only idea Dean’s sex-starved brain had been able to come up with last night as Cas slept peacefully beside him, and it seemed completely justified. 

 

Dean crept soundlessly across the floor, then when he was almost there, said casually, “Hey, Cas,” and promptly pinned Cas’s hips against the counter with his own, slipping his arms around him.

 

See, you could only get away with this with Cas, who reacted like this was a perfectly normal way to greet someone.  Cas was well aware he was still ignorant of many social customs; he probably thought this was merely one he was unfamiliar with.  “Hello, Dean,” he said warmly.

 

Dean slipped his hands underneath Cas’s shirt and started tantalizingly running them up over his chest.  “How’s it goin’?”  Dean forced himself to sound normal.

 

“Slowly, but it will get done in time,” Cas said, also sounding maddeningly normal.

 

Dean stroked his thumbs across his nipples, then kissed his back as he hooked his hands over Cas’s shoulders and suddenly yanked him back against Dean, silently begging Cas to respond so he didn’t have to resort to his terrible plan.  A little peach juice sprayed Dean in the eye, but after checking out what caused this, he determined it was merely Cas being pulled slightly off-balance; he was peeling normally again within seconds.  Dean hung his head, his forehead against Cas’s back.  Desperate times. 

 

He removed his hand from under Cas’s shirt and put it on one of his wings--near where they emerged from his back, so he couldn’t flick it out of the way.  Cas stilled.  Dean stroked it, very softly, and a slight sound came out of Cas’s open mouth that sounded almost like he was going to say something and never got farther than the first syllable.  Dean kissed the back of his neck.  “You havin’ fun with your, uh, fruit?”

 

It took a long few seconds for Cas to respond, as if he’d forgotten every word he ever knew and had to laboriously search his mental dictionary for the appropriate response.  “Yes,” he finally said, though there was no power behind it; he seemed to have to force out the word with his stomach muscles.

 

“Good,” Dean murmured sensually, stroking ever so slowly down the wing.  Cas continued to stand there, stock still.  Dean put his hand around the edge of the wing and squeezed just a little; in response, Cas crushed the peach half in his hand, then looked down at it wide-eyed, as if uncertain how that had happened.  Uh-oh.  Dean quickly removed the knife from his other hand and set it on the counter, then turned Cas around to face him.  He melted at the look he saw in Cas’s eyes, one of his favorites: like he had no idea where or who he was; all he knew was Dean and himself, the two of them together.  “Was there something you wanted?” Dean asked casually.  He was such a bastard.  How could he do this?  As easy as leaning forward to kiss Cas’s lips as he caught his wing under his arm so it couldn’t escape.  There was peach juice on those lips.  Dean couldn’t help himself; he licked it off.

 

“Yes,” Cas answered uncertainly.

 

“Mm?  What was it?”

 

 _Don’t say peeling peaches, don’t say peeling peaches_ , Dean silently willed him, stroking his wing more forcefully.  Cas’s knees gave out; Dean caught him by jamming his hips into his against the counter and pressing his knees into his legs.  “Mmm, was this for me?” Dean said, grabbing a peach half off the counter behind Cas and biting into it suggestively.

 

Cas sort of nodded.  He had no idea how to answer the question.  He was gone.  Something in Dean’s chest sang, even as he forced himself not to think about what a lowdown, dirty trick this was to play on Cas.  “For you?” Dean murmured more sensually, feeding the rest to Cas, who let Dean do so docilely.  This whole suggestive act was probably accomplishing nothing, Dean suddenly realized--Cas was turned on by whatever weird angel stuff he was turned on by, and it didn’t likely have anything to do with the whole porny finger-licking feeding of the juicy peach.  Ah, well; it was the language Dean spoke, so he forged ahead.  At least it didn’t seem to be turning Cas off.  And he did seem to be really into peaches; maybe it was helping.  Dean didn’t let up on the wing, cruelly taking advantage now that he had one.  Cas  slumped against him, his head slackly resting on Dean’s shoulder.

 

“Hey, I have an idea!” Dean said, as if it had just occurred to him.  “We could go have sex.  Whaddya think?  Sound good?”

 

Cas’s head tilted weakly.  For a horrible moment, Dean thought it was an attempted head-shake, and he imagined Cas calling him out and asking him how he could take advantage of him like this when he’d asked him not to, when they belonged to each other, when he trusted him so completely ... but then Cas’s fingers touched his forehead, and they were in their bed, and Dean grinned and ravished him without mercy.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Yeah, it was great--so, so great--until it was over and the guilt settled into every part of Dean.  Cas was smiling as he held Dean, back to humming Neil Diamond.  Dean imagined spilling his confession to Sam.  Where was Sam?  They should be home soon.  Maybe Cas would fall asleep and then Dean could go and unload all this stuff Sam didn’t even want to know, and then Sam would just tell him to confess to Cas and apologize, get it off his conscience, and--“I’m sorry!” Dean practically yelled, so suddenly Cas flinched.  Cas looked around the room, bewildered, as if looking for what Dean was apologizing about, or who he was apologizing to.  “I’m a horrible person, Cas, I’m so sorry.  I’m fuckin’ evil.  It was wrong.  God.”  He covered his face with his arm, trying to hide that his eyes were already getting a little wet.  He’d been aware on some level even as he was concocting the plan that he would be apologizing to Cas afterward, but in his mind it was all sexy and light-hearted, and Cas would laugh lightly and say, “As if you need to apologize for that,” and then they’d probably do it again, but the reality of his guilt was way worse than he’d anticipated.  No matter what Cas said or how quickly he forgave him (he’d been counting on his forgiving him; Cas always forgave him, though he’d never done anything like this before), it wouldn’t help.  God, what was wrong with him?  His priorities were always fucked up when it came to Cas.

 

“What are you apologizing for, Dean?”

 

Dean shook his head, trying to come up with words, failing.  Cas tugged on his arm.  He wanted to look into his eyes, because he could see everything in a glance if he did.  Dean certainly couldn’t bear that, so he clenched his arm tighter across his eyes.  “Please, Dean,” Cas said softly.  “Tell me.  I-- Did we not have a very nice time just now?  I--thought--”

 

Dean grabbed him and hugged him tight.  “Of course we did,” he grunted, if possible hating himself even more than he did a few seconds ago.  “I did.  I’m a monster, Cas.  I really am.  I don’t know what you’re doing with me.”

 

“Dean.”  Cas sounded alarmed.  “Please tell me what I did, so I can make it right.  Have-- did I--”  He was starting to sound scared.  This would never do.  Cas was new to sex.  He must think he’d done something wrong, crossed some line, like Dean did.  With greatest reluctance, he drew back and allowed Cas to look into his soul and see all the darkness that dwelled therein.  Cas peered intently into his eyes, taking in everything, but even after a few seconds had passed, he only looked confused.  “What ... where is the source of all this guilt?” 

 

“Because I tricked you into sex, Cas!  I tricked you, because I knew I could.  Used your wings against you, breaking a promise at the same time.”

 

“What promise?”

 

“Not to touch your wings outside the bedroom.”

 

“I only meant ... when others are present.  Sam and Virginia have been away all evening.”

 

“It’s the principle!”

 

Cas sat there, looking troubled.  Dean knew Cas would never rip him a new one like he deserved, but then again, Cas had the power to say things that were so unflinchingly true, they could gut you in a second.  He braced for it.  “I feel ... regret,” Cas said, his wings hunching in close to his body.  “I think what I feel is ... guilt.”

 

Dean sat up instantly.  “What?!”

 

Cas gave him that mournful, sorrowful, compassionate look that got Dean every time.  “I neglected you.”

 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

 

“I was so wrapped up in my activities.  If I had only looked in your eyes, I’d have seen what you needed.  I’m very sorry, Dean.  I forgot your human needs.  I always forget about this one, and I made you suffer needlessly.  I’ll try hard to remember next time.”  Cas never felt anything only a little bit; his every emotion suffused him completely.  He was the very picture of regret.  “Can you forgive me?” he asked, absolutely sincere.

 

“What are you doin’, apologizing?!” Dean said, horrified.  “Sex isn’t something you owe me.”

 

“But it’s something we both enjoy.  There was no reason for you to be deprived.  I only wish you had asked me.”

 

“Well, I kinda ....”  No.  He hadn’t asked him, not directly, and anyway, there was no way he was putting this on Cas.  “You’re right.  I’m a dumbass.  I’ll nut up and ask next time, but Cas ... it doesn’t change that I did something ... really bad to you, man, and I feel terrible.”  He reached for him, thinking maybe about kissing him, but he didn’t feel like he deserved it, and he let his hand fall back down. 

 

Cas caught it on the way.  “How is it bad?” he asked simply.  “I trust you.”

 

Dean sank.  “That’s why it’s bad,” he said flatly.

 

“I trust you because I know you’d never hurt me or cruelly take advantage of me.”

 

“But that’s exactly what I did!  I tricked you!”

 

“... Into doing something you know I enjoy?  How is this wrong?  I’d grown very single-minded.  I’m grateful for the distraction.  My father did not design humans to fixate on a single thing for hours and days and weeks on end, as I was fixating on my garden.  I am human enough now that it probably wasn’t good for me, either.”

 

“You said you have to harvest and prepare it real quick.”

 

“Well ... there’s only so much one man can do at one time.  I was already falling behind.  I suppose it will all get done eventually.”

 

Dean turned to him, chock full of gratitude that Cas hadn’t forgiven him, he’d done them one better: he’d made it so Dean didn’t have to be forgiven.  Cas made everything better.  What had he ever done to deserve to have someone like Cas in his life?  He was like a genie, only the wishes didn’t stop after three, they just kept on coming.  Cas took everything dark and made it light and happy and good.  “I’ll help you,” he promised Cas.  “I’ll help you pit, and peel, and ... hey, wait a minute, did you say something about pies?”

 

Cas thought back over their conversation.  “No.”

 

“I mean, yesterday, did I hear something about seven pies?”

 

Cas brightened, remembering.  “Oh.  Yes.  I have enough peaches for at least seven pies.”

 

“REALLY??”

 

“Yes, but peaches can also be canned, dehydrated, frozen--”

 

“Or just turned into pies!”

 

“Well ... yes, but--”

 

“Why do all that in-between stuff, the canning and freezing and everything?  Why not just make the pies right now?”

 

Cas seemed a bit taken aback by Dean’s extreme enthusiasm, but come on!  SEVEN PIES?  “Well ... I also have two cherry trees, two pear trees, three apple trees, two plum trees ...  I thought I would make one or two pies of each kind.”

 

ALL THOSE KINDS OF PIE?  Cas really was the source of all things wonderful and awesome.  Dean kissed him passionately.  “God, how I love you.  You’re human, and angel, and hotness, and pie, all rolled into a trenchcoat!”

 

“Thank you,” said Cas, flattered.

 

“So ... so why not all pies?”  It was a brilliant idea!  So much easier than all that other stuff he’d been planning on doing.

 

“I know that Sam and Virginia and ... myself would enjoy some fruit that’s ... not in pie form, as the winter goes on.”

 

“Great, so you just can or freeze or whatever enough for you guys, and make pies from all the rest!  That’d still be, like, what, five pies or something.  Five pies per tree?”

 

“That would be a great many pies.  More than any of us could hope to eat.”

 

“See, that’s where you’re wrong.  I GUARANTEE you I could eat all those pies before the end of winter, no problem.  And you just got the deep freezer, that’s perfect!  You could make the pies, freeze ’em, and then whenever I want one, I can take it out of the freezer and bake it.”

 

Cas’s eyes traveled surreptitiously down to Dean’s chest, as if he could see his heart and the condition of its vessels.  “Er ... well, maybe it’s still not a great idea, even if you were able to consume so very many in such a short period.”

 

“Well, but there’ll still be some pies, right?  A pretty good number of pies?  And, you know, if you had some bags of frozen, non-pie fruit, those could still be made into pies if, you know, you didn’t have anything better to do with them, couldn’t they?”

 

Cas still sounded pretty uncomfortable with the whole thing.  “Yes ....”

 

“Oh, man, I am so on board with this fruit-preparing deal!  We need to get on it, Cas!  We can’t let any of those peaches and pears and everything go to waste.  They’re not gonna rot sitting down there on the counter tonight, are they?  As soon as we get home from work tomorrow, I’ll peel like a madman while you make pies ....”

 

* * *

 

 

 

Virginia and Sam observed Dean’s newfound dedication to helping Cas preserve fruit from his garden, nonplussed at first, until Cas started on his first pie; then understanding dawned in their eyes at the same moment.  “Huh,” said Virginia.  “I’m seeing the order of priorities in your hippocampus, Dean; it goes ‘sex, pie, ....’”

 

She looked to Sam for the next item on the list.  Sam shrugged.  “I think that’s pretty much it.”

 

“It goes ‘sex, pie, burger,’” Dean informed them.

 

“Then it just kind of starts over,” agreed Sam.

 

“Hey!  I’m a simple guy with simple needs.  Nothin’ wrong with that.”

 

“Pie ranks high in my hippocampus, too,” Virginia confessed to Dean, surveying Cas’s creations.  Two pies were in the oven by 7, and out again by 8.  Everyone was in the kitchen for the big moment, even Sam.  The cherry pie was oozing and steaming so tantalizingly, that horrible Warrant song actually started making some sense to Dean.  Dean had always liked cherry pie, but he wouldn’t write a whole song about it, jeez.  He was starting to think he might now, though.

 

“So,” Dean said, wiping the corners of his mouth repeatedly, “so, the peach one look good to you guys?  One pie enough for you two?  Great.”  He grabbed a thick dishtowel, a fork, and the cherry pie, and rushed him and Cas off to their bedroom.

 

“Oh.  Oh, my God, this is so good.  Cas, you’re so good!”  Dean squealed, eating the pie. 

 

Cas, meanwhile, changed into his sleeping outfit of a thin old t-shirt and loose sweats, smiling.  “I’m glad you like it.”

 

“C’mere, you’ve got to have some of this!  Come eat it!  You made it; you should get to enjoy it, too.”

 

“I’ll wash my face first.”

 

“Before eating pie?!  Get over here.  I’m serious--if you don’t get your ass in the bed and pie in your mouth really soon, there’s not going to be any pie left.”

 

“There will be pie tomorrow, I’m sure.”

 

“But this is the first pie!  This cherry pie!  Look.  Did you see it?  Did you see the way it was all ... oozing ....”  Dean got lost in his sensuous pleasure, staring at the pie, remembering what it looked like after the first bite, then after the second bite ... and now, wrecked and devoured, and still just as beautiful.  Like Cas, after a good night of lovemaking.

 

Obediently, Cas sat down on the bed beside him.  “I just don’t understand why you aren’t more excited about this pie you made.  If the pie were in your hands and you’d already eaten this much, I’d be fighting you for it.”

 

“Well ... I’ve never had pie before.”

 

Dean goggled at him.  “You made pie, and you’ve never even had any?!”

 

“I didn’t eat, before I came to live with you, and ....”

 

“I can’t believe I went without pie that long!  You got here months ago!  Here.”  He gathered a forkful and shoveled it into Cas’s mouth.  Dean had the unique pleasure of watching the dawn of the appreciation of pie on a grown man’s face.  Dean remembered the first time he’d ever fed Sam pie.  He hadn’t even been ten months old.  Dean had been eating pie while Sam laid face-up on his lap in the Impala while Dad paid for gas.  It was only a crappy convenience-store packaged fruit pie, but still.  A little bit of pie filling had crumbled off and fallen on Sammy’s face, which he promptly licked up.  Dean had watched his face light up comically, the kind of extreme reaction you’d see on a cartoon character, tongue wildly flailing around in the search for more.  Dean had fed him way more than he should have, laughing hysterically watching Sam’s reaction.  That was the moment he knew they’d be best friends.  This with Cas now was a little like that. 

 

Cas looked down at the pie warmly, longingly, and seemed unable to resist running his finger around the edge for some of that gooey baked-on filling.  “Yeah, but the crust is the best part,” Dean said, getting Cas a handful with all the good parts that were left in the pan and feeding it to him.  Soon there were clothes on the floor and pie everywhere.  Cas was even more lost in pleasure than usual, probably overwhelmed by the addition of an extra kind of sensory stimulation.  Dean’s mind was blown.  His two greatest pleasures, at one and the same time. 

 

Afterward, seeing bits of pie in every crevice of the sheets and their bodies, Dean was a little bothered by the waste.  All that glorious pie should have gotten eaten, every last crumb.  There would never be another pie like that.  Cas, as always, made everything better when he murmured, “Perhaps we should make all the fruit into pies, after all.”

 

Dean pressed their bodies together, hearing the slight squish of pie and the sound of their skin sticking, running his tongue up Cas’s chest.  Seriously, how had he never had pie sex before?!  It was everything good about sex, plus sometimes when you licked your lover--pie!  He finally got to Cas’s mouth, delighted to see the corners turned up.  He licked around in the general vicinity of Cas’s mouth, hoping for more pie, but he’d already covered Cas’s face pretty thoroughly.  He stuck his tongue in Cas’s mouth instead.  Cas even french-kissed with impossible tenderness.  He made everything dirty seem sweet.  “You,” Dean breathed, kissing and licking around one ear, “are the best,” he descended to Cas’s neck, “pie,” he sucked on his collarbone for a second, getting the impression Cas was listening intently for how this sentence was going to end, “plate,” he headed on down his chest, “ever.”  Cas even giggled softly.  Sometimes he got jokes.  Usually not the way you meant them, but it was all good.

 

“And you are my favorite human of all time.  Er--that is, I mean, of all the humans I have ever known or observed, I feel ... more for you, than ... an angel is ... supposed to,” he finished awkwardly.  He looked concerned.  “Was that romantic?  I intended it to be, but I’m afraid--”

 

“Romantic?  Outta you, baby?  You bet.”  Dean sighed, laying back on the sticky sheets.  He hated being sticky, but it was worth it for this.  In the old days, it was monster slime or something, and back then, when he and Sam couldn’t always get to a shower, that could be pretty sucktastic.  Dean caught sight of his own arm, where there was what he could only assume was a hickey.  He pointed at it, delighted.  “Hey, look, Cas!  Your first hickey!”

 

Cas looked alarmed.  “Oh, my goodness.  I apologize.”  Cas put his finger on it and in an instant it was gone.

 

“Hey!” Dean complained.  “Give it back!  I wanted it to stay.”

 

“Oh.”  Cas looked even more confused.  “I ... can’t give it back.”

 

“Then gimme another one,” Dean said, arching his eyebrows at him.  When Cas didn’t seem to comprehend, he put his fingers on Cas’s lips.

 

“I ... don’t know how.”

 

“Then I’ll make you do it again,” Dean breathed sensually, and proceeded to try to whip Cas into a sexual frenzy sufficient to get him to do it again of his own accord.  When he succeeded, he praised Cas to make sure he repeated the performance whenever he felt the urge.  Cas was easy to steer like that, completely suggestible when he was lost in sensual pleasure.  Dean knew he could get Cas to do just about anything, if he really wanted to, so he tried to be good and not abuse the privilege, though sometimes it was impossible to resist getting Cas to do the craziest, most wonderful stuff.  He had zero natural inhibitions, and Dean didn’t have many either, which made them perfect for each other. 

 

Maybe he went a little overboard with the praise; at the end of their second round of pie sex, Dean was covered with hickeys.  It only made him laugh, especially when it alarmed Cas again, once he returned to his senses.  Cas asked whether he could heal at least a few of them, and Dean picked some he’d let him fix, watching them magically disappear one by one.  He kept the best ones, though.  After that, they laid together in the sticky bed as Dean ran his hand slowly up and down Cas’s body.  Sometimes his hand stuck.  Mm, pie.  Well, probably pie.

 

“Hey, did I hear you mention something about your vessel the other day?”

 

Cas smiled mildly.  “Apparently the order of priorities in your hippocampus goes ‘sex, pie, vessel.’  Yes, I mentioned him.”

 

“So, is he ... I mean, aware of ... this stuff we do?”

 

“He is able to be.  He is also able not to be.  He and I have ... since the gate was closed, we’ve become more of a singular entity than is ordinarily the case between an angel and its vessel.  The personalities usually remain separate, but as I become more human ....”

 

“So ... is he okay with it?  I mean, you said he was really devout ....”

 

Cas smiled with understanding.  “Ah.  He understands my father celebrates love between two people, regardless of gender.”

 

“That’s cool.  But still, if he’s straight, maybe ....”

 

“You are straight.  Dean, Jimmy is human.  It makes him happy that now we eat, that we sleep, that we make love, all these human things.”

 

“Yeah?  So he’s happy?”

 

Cas was about to answer, and then he hesitated.  He seemed to search inside himself for the answer before finally saying, “I ... don’t know.”  He seemed troubled.  He glanced at Dean guardedly.  “You were meant to be Michael’s vessel, but you refused.  Why?”

 

“Why?!  Because it would start the freakin’ apocalypse, that’s why!”

 

“Is that the only reason?”

 

“Well ... well, no!  I wasn’t gonna give up my life for some dick.  Plus, we saw how Raphael left his vessel.”  Dean shuddered.  “No fuckin’ way.”

 

Cas looked very troubled indeed, but said nothing more.  Dean almost suggested they shower and change the sheets before going to sleep, but it was late and they had work the next day.  Besides, this way, if he rolled over face-down onto a new spot sometime in the night, maybe ... pie!

 

* * *

 

 

 

They spent the following afternoon at Cas’s garden, harvesting.  Dean was kind of getting into the whole thing.  He liked corn, after all.  Baked beans were pretty good.  He liked the occasional tomato on his burger.  He definitely liked ketchup.  Cas grew all this stuff himself!

 

On their way home, the trunk and the backseat full of produce, a black feather twirled past Dean’s face.  Dean grabbed it out of the air and looked at Cas.  “Is this one of yours?” he asked, confused.  Cas hadn’t lost a single feather since he got better.  Cas looked at his hand, then into his eyes, then away.  “Cas?  Can you see the feather?”  If he couldn’t, that meant it was one of his.  Reluctantly, Cas shook his head.  Bewildered, Dean kept looking at him while still trying to keep his eyes on the road.  “Cas?” he said anxiously.  “Are you okay?”  His wings seemed sort of small and subdued, though it was hard to tell in the bright evening light.  Cas nodded.

 

Dean did all the corn shucking and fruit peeling and whatever himself that night, telling Cas to sit and rest, but Cas refused, working alongside Dean.  “C’mon, I got this,” Dean insisted, but Cas wouldn’t hear it.  That night in bed, he fell asleep mid-sentence.  The following morning, Dean tried to get Cas to stay home from work, but he got up, saying he felt he’d been neglecting his work duties “too.”  “Whaddya mean, ‘too’?” Dean demanded.

 

“I focused all my attention on my garden, and neglected you.  I feel I’m still neglecting you, but now I’m also neglecting my garden.  My peppers were quite wilted by the time we arrived yesterday.”  He raised haunted eyes to Dean’s.  “And I have not learned a new thing about computer repair in months.”

 

“Well, I’m fine, Cas,” Dean said forcefully.  “As for work, you don’t get paid enough to care.  And as for your garden--they’re just plants!  Come on!”

 

“When you plant a seed, there is an implicit promise, that you will care for it, until--”

 

“So what?  They don’t feel.”

 

“They do feel,” he murmured softly.  He would know, Dean guessed.  Cas looked so weighted down, standing there in the middle of their room.  The guy had no life, no friends, no activities, only a garden and a job and Dean, and it was like just that much was crushing him. 

 

Dean took his hands and looked intently into his eyes.  “You listen to me, Cas.  Just let it go, okay?  None of that matters.  You can’t worry about the small stuff.”

 

“What’s the big stuff?”

 

“Life or death stuff.  Stuff like you getting sick again, your feathers coming out.  You’ve got to do whatever it takes to make sure that doesn’t happen, that you’re ... you know, okay.”

 

“And ... Jimmy?  Jimmy Novak’s life, how I took it from him?  That’s ... that’s a big-stuff item ... isn’t it?”

 

Dean tried to say something, but shut his mouth fast.  He’d have to think good and hard about how to answer this one, with the state Cas was in, or he might end up saying something really wrong, something catastrophic, but he couldn’t think of anything good right now, so he just kissed Cas’s forehead and said, “It’s all good.  Everything’s okay.  Okay?  Trust me.”

 

Cas nodded and looked down.  “Yes, Dean,” he said softly.  “I’ll do as you say.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

Cas had told Dean he wasn’t made for making big decisions, that he was designed for obedience.  Dean knew that was why Cas had suddenly become rather submissive and obedient: not knowing what to do, he turned to someone else who seemed to know better than he did, as he’d been looking to God and his superiors since ... well, practically since the beginning of time.  Still, Dean had to talk to Sam about it.  Like Cas thought Dean always knew what to do, Dean thought Sam always had at least a pretty good idea of what the right thing was.  “Did I do this to him?” Dean asked Sam anxiously.  “I, uh ... I kind of took myself on a guilt trip the other night.  Do you think I ...?”

 

“... Modeled it for him?  Seriously, you’re feeling guilty for feeling guilty?”  Sam shook his head at him, but his smile was sympathetic.  “How’s that gonna help?  Anyway, I don’t think that has anything to do with it.  Think about it: Cas is an angel.  He may look human, but he isn’t.  You can’t change what he spent eons learning, in just a couple of months.”

 

“So ... you do?  You think he can learn to be human?” Dean said, gaining a tiny bit of the hope he’d been steadily losing, seeing Cas like this.

 

“Well ... I don’t know,” Sam said reluctantly, and Dean looked at him sharply.  “I guess it depends on ... how angels are made.  Whether they can learn and change.”

 

“I just don’t get why he’s so bent out of shape all of a sudden.  About his garden, Sam!  He’s freaking out about the peppers, saying there’s an ‘implicit promise’ to take care of them or something ....”

 

“Well ... I guess it must be hard.  He always got to be perfect, before, never had to question whether something was right or wrong.  I mean, free will ... humans are pretty attached to it, but if it wasn’t the way you were made, it’d be a pretty heavy burden, Dean.  You know?”

 

Dean thought about that a lot.  He was Team Free Will, big-time, always had been.  He couldn’t imagine feeling any other way.  He couldn’t imagine anyone feeling differently.  “So, Cas,” he said carefully that night in bed, “uh ... so, do angels have free will?”

 

“Of course not.”

 

“What, uh ... what do they have instead?”

 

“Orders.”

 

“Yeah, but ... Sam and I had orders, from our dad, and that didn’t mean we followed ’em.”

 

“Because you are human.  It is human nature to choose a course of action and pursue it ... whatever the cost.  Your course of action is a reflection of your uniqueness, your perspective, which no other being in the universe shares.  Humans ... I finally see why my father placed them so far above angels.”  He sounded wistful. 

 

“Why?” Dean asked, baffled.  “Why isn’t it better to be perfect and follow orders?”

 

“It would be, to accomplish certain goals.  Dean, would you rather have a robot or a child?  If there was a specific job that needed to get done, the robot would be useful, but the child ... the child is the one you love, not even despite its flaws and peculiarities, but because of them.  The robot is function; the child is ... beauty.  The child is unique.  Yet still, the child is ... you.  You and not-you, its own entity, with its own mind.  I finally see it.  Lucifer was a fool.  We should be worshipping at your feet.”

 

Something hurt in Dean, to hear Cas talking about himself this way.  “But you are beautiful, Cas.  You’re not a robot.”

 

“Not anymore.  What am I now?  Half robot?”

 

“You’re all Cas.”

 

“Yes, and Jimmy was the sacrifice.  For an angel.  If humans are so much superior to angels, how dare I take the life of one for my selfish ends?”

 

“Hey, he gave himself to you--”

 

“When I had a purpose, when I was serving in my father’s army, when I followed orders.  Now, there are no orders, so what excuse do I have, what claim have I on this vessel?  I can no longer know whether my course of action is correct, Dean.  Cut off from heaven, there is no way for me to know.  I can only look at the facts, as a human does, and come to a conclusion, and hope, as a human does, that I have chosen correctly.  How do you bear it, Dean, the responsibility?  The knowledge that you may have made a mistake?  All your failures?  Your trespasses against others?  How do you live this way?  I look at you, and Sam, and Virginia, and every human I encounter.  I look into their eyes, see the crushing choices they have to make daily: garden or lover or job?  Child or husband or job or self or dreams?  Pulled in so many different directions, pressured in so many others, I--Dean, I--”  He was making little gasping noises in the dark, and Dean put his arms around him and pulled him close, alarmed.  “I am not worthy of this human life.  I am not capable of it.  I was not made--for--”

 

“No, Cas no, what are you saying?”  Sam’s words echoed in Dean’s mind:  It depends how they’re made, whether Cas would be able to survive being human or not.  “Look, it’s not a problem.  If work is too much for you, you just quit, and if the garden--you know what, just take care of your garden, and when winter comes or whenever you’ve got time, I’m here.  Okay?  No big deal.  There doesn’t have to be any pressure.  No pressure, Cas; it’s all good.”

 

Cas curled in on himself abruptly and made louder, worse sounds, sounds he’d never made before, ever.  It took Dean a few seconds to place them: he was crying.  Humans were born crying.  They were used to it.  To hear an angel driven to that point was the eeriest, most horrifying thing Dean had ever heard.  It sounded strange, coming out of Cas, like he didn’t know how it was done; rather, it was something happening to him, beyond his control, and he had no choice but to surrender to it.  It wasn’t an experience he was surrendering to, though, or a feeling; it was ... brokenness.  Hearing Cas cry was like listening to shards of glass grinding together.  “No no no,” Dean whispered in terror, trying to find a way to comfort him, but there was no comfort for being human when you weren’t meant to be.

 

Cas was trying to talk, but couldn’t through his sobs.  At last, Dean managed to make out a sentence: “It’s extremely difficult to talk while weeping.  That hardly makes any evolutionary sense.” 

 

Dean smiled wistfully.  Even now, Cas was painfully cute, adorably himself, whatever that might be.  “Maybe the idea is that while you’re crying, you haven’t got a lot to say,” he murmured, cuddling Cas close against his body.

 

“But I do have things to say!” he objected.  “I ....”  Trying to express it, he broke down again.  It took a long time for him to get it out, and when he did, a chill passed all the way through Dean:  “However I may be able to justify my trespasses against my garden, against my job, against you, I can’t ... I can’t justify ... what I have done to Jimmy.” 

 

“But you said he’s happy!  You said he consented--”

 

“Yes, but back when I could hear him, when I was aware of his thoughts and feelings, I saw that ... Dean, I made him suffer.  The way angels travel, the terror of battle, even never eating ... these things made him unhappy enough that it was clear he would not consent were he given the choice a second time.  He only allowed me stay because he was afraid his daughter would be taken in his place.”

 

“Wait a minute--the vessel can kick you guys out?”

 

“No.  Once consent is given, the vessel belongs to the angel who possesses it, but I would have been willing--”

 

“Oh.”  Well, that answered that.  Sam once had this crazy idea of saying yes to Lucifer, thinking he could overpower him.  Good thing it had never come to that.

 

He raised agonized eyes to Dean’s.  He suddenly looked much more human than before.  “To take a life ... that’s another way of saying murder, isn’t it?  I have taken Jimmy’s life, only ... only I could give it back to him.  This is the one wrong that I could make right.  As I consider the actions I have taken and their rightness or wrongness, I ... I can never see my way clear to any other way of doing right than to relinquish this vessel.”

 

Dean was frozen, staring at Cas, because he knew what that would mean.  In his natural state, Cas was light too bright to look at, noise too loud to stand.  It would take Cas away from Dean.  Looking into his eyes, even in the darkness, Cas could see all this, and his face creased with agony.  “And I will hurt you.  Dean, I am so very, very sorry.  I don’t know what to do.  I see now ... I suppose ... it would have been better if I had returned to heaven when you closed the gate, even if it meant my destruction.  Or ... or if I had freed Jimmy as soon as the battles were over--I wish I had; it simply never occurred to me, until I became human, until I started questioning ....  Or if I had never existed, only then I would never have been there to raise you from hell.  Some other angel would have, I suppose--”

 

“Don’t say that!” Dean hissed, clutching his arms.  “How can you say that?  You--you existing--”  Now Dean was crying, although he wouldn’t admit it, even to himself.  “You existing was the very best thing that ever happened to me.  You--you can’t--”  Cas knew what he wanted to say, that Cas couldn’t leave him.  He saw the way the pain settled into Cas’s features when he realized it, suffering compounded with more suffering, an angel of the lord who could not bear to do wrong, trapped into causing pain no matter what he did.  Dean could see it crushing the life out of Cas.  Dean didn’t have to be able to see the future to know his feathers would be falling out and he would probably die if this continued.  Even if he didn’t die, he would be in constant agony.  There was only one option.  Dean kissed him with all his might, folding him in his arms like they were made to fit together.  He felt Cas’s wings gently come around him in return.  “You do what you gotta do,” he said quickly, while he could still make himself.  “I love you, Cas.  Thank you, for--loving me.  Thanks, man.  Thanks for everything.”

 

“I will cause you pain.”

 

“Better to have loved and lost.  It really is.  I love you, Cas.  Just--wherever you go, be happy, okay?  And don’t worry about me.  You gotta at least promise me that.”

 

Cas nodded, eyes full of tears.  “It is better for a human to be with humans.  I hope you find a human to love.  I know you always wanted a family.  It would not have been possible with us.  Maybe this will be a blessing in disguise for you.  Regardless, the human heart heals.  You will be fine.”  Dean noticed Cas didn’t say he himself would be fine.  Did angel hearts heal?  When they were one, once, long ago, it had seemed to Dean as though an angel’s every experience was etched upon it for eternity.  “Know that I will always watch over you.  If you ever need anything from me, pray, and I will assist, as an angel is meant to do.  That is really an angel’s function; not this ... pretense of being human.  I love you, Dean.  It is because of you that I am able to love, that I know what it means.  Thank you.  I don’t know enough words to thank you in a way that would seem sufficient.”

 

“You either, Cas,” Dean breathed softly.

 

Cas kissed his lips one last time, but Dean could hardly feel it, dazed, already feeling the agony of the loss of the one person who would ever know him, literally, body, mind, and soul.  “Please look after Jimmy,” said Cas.  “He will be disoriented, and it will take him a while to ‘get back on his feet,’ as they say.  Will you take care of him until he is recovered?”

 

Dean nodded.

 

Cas slumped in his arms.  Jimmy--Jimmy slumped in his arms, unconscious.  Cas was gone.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jimmy was indeed disoriented.  In fact, the power of speech seemed to be beyond him for a few days, sitting there, staring, uncomfortably reminiscent of Raphael’s vessel.  It was a relief when he started talking again.  Well, kind of a relief.  It was also agony for Dean, to see someone who looked exactly like Cas, right there in his house, talking to him, who wasn’t him.  He wanted to put his arms around him, talk like they used to, tell him he loved him.  It was hard to remember, except that Jimmy and Cas were so different, and Jimmy had no wings, which seemed wrong to Dean every time he witnessed it.  For days, passing by him, he would pause and stare, looking for wings.  Weird, that someone _not_ having wings could have come to seem strange.

 

Yeah, they were different.  Jimmy and Cas could hardly be more different.  Jimmy was just a regular joe--family man, business guy, wearing a suit.  Sam kind of took over looking after Jimmy after seeing Dean’s grim interactions with him, as he forced himself not to show all the longing and pain talking to Jimmy brought up in him, seldom able to even look the poor guy in the eye.  It wasn’t Jimmy’s fault.  He was the victim in all this, the one guy who was truly innocent, and Dean was disgusted with himself for feeling resentment that Jimmy had wanted to get rid of Cas, especially when Dean had done everything it took to avoid such a fate for himself.

 

As soon as he could bring himself to, Dean went to Cas’s property to take care of his garden, only to find every fruit and vegetable already harvested.  Dean had a look around but didn’t find any baskets of harvest, in his shack or back at home.  It was only when he went to the pantry to get some chips and saw bags full of dehydrated fruit that it occurred to him to look out in the deep freezer, where there were bags of frozen fruits and vegetables, and stacks upon stacks of pies, neatly labeled.  Dean stared for a few seconds, until he remembered the kind of power angels possessed.  Why then had Cas gone to all the trouble of doing all that stuff by hand all that time when he could have snapped his fingers and made it so?  Maybe simply in an effort to act more human, or maybe maintaining his vessel drained his power. 

 

He looked at the pies again.  Most of the fruit was now in pie form.  He knew this was a gift for him from Cas.  Dean closed the deep freezer, feeling sick, then shouted to Sam and Virginia and Jimmy that there was pie in the freezer if ever they should want some, knowing he would never be able to touch another pie Cas had made.  It didn’t matter.  Dean pretty much lived on Hunter’s Helper since Cas left, anyway.

 

Jimmy wanted to return to his family, so Dean drove him there and dropped him off.  He was only an hour out of town when his cell phone rang.  It was Jimmy, saying his wife wouldn’t have him.  Dean turned around and picked him up again.  Jimmy sat in the passenger seat, crying, talking about his wife and family, what a mistake it had been to allow Castiel to use his body as a vessel, what the experience had been like.  He seemed traumatized.  Cas had made the right choice, Dean thought.  Of course.  Cas would always make the right choice.

 

“What, uh ... what was it like, being his vessel?” Dean could not help but ask.  It was hard to conceive of someone not enjoying being absolutely as close to Cas as a person could be, but this was the reason Cas had left him.  He had to know. 

 

Jimmy told him the same stuff Cas had perceived, how terrifying it was to be in battle, never knowing if he would even survive, how disorienting it was to travel angel-style.  The worst stuff was stuff Dean had never even thought of: that his body was not his own, that he had no control over how it was used.  His wife could be two feet away and he wouldn’t even be able to raise his hand to touch her. 

 

“So he just ignored you?” Dean asked expressionlessly.  Maybe all angels were jerks when it came to how they treated their vessels.

 

“Not on purpose.  Angels ... they’re infinite, did you know that?  Even when they’ve got a vessel.  His mind is inexpressibly vast; it was here and in the past and in heaven and in three other parts of the world and collecting reams of information ... and that was when he was at rest.  That’s why it’s so disorienting, being a vessel; you don’t even know what to pay attention to.  Your mind can’t hold it all, anyway.  Whatever you do decide to pay attention to, you can’t do anything about.  Talking to the angel who’s using you as a vessel is like ... standing in front of an armada talking about fish and chips, you know?  He’s so vast, there’s so much going on in his head, you’re just this one tiny voice not contributing anything relevant--anything you could say, he already knows.”

 

“And he didn’t care that you weren’t happy?”

 

“He cared.  There just wasn’t anything he could do about it.  He had to have a vessel to fight that war.”  He shrugged.

 

“But after the war?”

 

“It was better then,” Jimmy said distantly, staring out the windows in some kind of reverie, as he often was.  Dean didn’t know what Jimmy had been like before, but if he used to be normal, he wasn’t anymore.  He had that thousand-yard stare, and he would zone out for minutes at a time.  “No war to fight.  We weren’t in danger anymore.  I guess it was you who closed the gate to heaven, which made Castiel much more ... human.  It was all the angelic stuff that was so hard for me.  Being here on earth, being human--that was what was normal to me, even if it was harder for him.  We started to do the stuff that I like to do.  I could finally exert my will, and he just kinda bent to it sometimes.  Meanwhile, he was still infinite, in the realms he could reach ....”  He trailed off, staring out the window again, unblinking.  He finally roused himself to finish his thought.  “... Which meant I was, too.  I mean, the kind of information you have access to ....” 

 

He got lost again, so like Cas, it was more than Dean could take, and he interrupted whatever these thoughts were that were so compelling the real world could no longer even hold his attention.  “So why didn’t he give you back your body after the gate was closed?  Did you ask?” 

 

“No,” he said distantly.  “It didn’t occur to me to ask.  When the gate was closed, we just kinda ... it was hard to tell the difference between us anymore, you know?  ’Cos he was so much less angelic.  After that, all either of us had access to was earthly stuff.  If he’d given me up then, before you, you know, saved him, he would have died, just kind of ... dissipated into the ether.  We’d become enough of the same person that I felt like I was keeping myself alive, by keeping him in my body, even though I guess maybe that was really him thinking he was keeping himself alive by staying in my body.  I couldn’t tell the difference anymore ....”  He fell to staring again.

 

“Did it bother you, the, uh, relationship that ... Cas and I had?”

 

“’Cas.’”  Jimmy smiled.  “He loved the way you called him that so casually.  Angels’ names, they’re written into time, did you know that?  The names themselves have power.  They’ll never be changed, for all eternity, and here you were, renaming him like he was yours to do that with ....  It made him feel free, like maybe he wasn’t just heaven’s servant.  Anyway, nah, no, that didn’t bother me.  It was nice.  How could a love like that not be nice?  Besides, by that time, I was off exploring all of time ....”

 

“Huh?”

 

“The power he had.  It became mine, too.  He’d been on earth from the time it was formed, you know, so I guess it wasn’t that interesting to him, but to me, I just kind of got lost, exploring ... everything.  Everything,” he repeated, staring into infinity.  Guy was definitely a little weird.  Dean was all the more glad he’d never said yes to Michael.

 

It took a while, but Jimmy was finally able to pull himself together enough to start building a life for himself again.  He found a job, then an apartment.  Dean checked up on him sometimes.  Once he seemed okay and he’d fulfilled his promise to Cas, Dean went to Ellen.  “Get me back in the field,” he told her.  “I mean it.  You gotta get me out of here.”  He and Cas had worked there together.  It was where they’d met.  Hell, he even still found Cas’s feathers in corners and under desks, stuck in dust bunnies among computer cords, from time to time.

 

Ellen surveyed him impassively, though he thought he saw a tiny spark of compassion in her eyes.  Everyone at work knew about him and Cas, but only Ellen knew Cas was an angel.  She knew what had happened, that Cas had relinquished his vessel.  She had nothing but words of praise for Cas for doing it.  She was right to, no matter how it made Dean feel to hear them.  “I guess the last time you got on the wrong side of the law has probably mostly blown over, just as long as you maintain an alternate identity while you’re out there.”

 

“Sure, whatever.”

 

“If you get caught, though, I’ll disavow all knowledge.”

 

“Ghost Protocol, got it.”

 

She looked at him, and her face creased a little.  “Dean--”

 

“What.”

 

“I know you boys had something special, but he was an angel.  Angels and humans were never meant to be together.”

 

Dean had constructed an excellent mask that never betrayed any emotion.  He knew this because he saw it every morning in the bathroom mirror as he washed up.  Mornings were the worst time, waking from dreams where everything was all right and he and Cas were still together.  Most mornings began with what seemed like an unbearable pain in his solar plexus, before he was able to get used to it again and let the events of the day distract him.  Sam’s gentle concern was the only thing that could threaten to break through his walls, which was part of why he needed to get out of town, lest Sam finally succeed.  Still, even first thing in the morning, his face was a cool mask that hinted at nothing beneath the surface, nothing at all.  So it was very frustrating to have to fight to get his expression back under control as he said, voice shaking, “Ellen, so help me, you better never say anything like that to me again or I can’t be responsible for what I’ll do.”

 

“I’d have your hide, boy.”

 

“Then keep your gun handy if you want to say things like that to me, Ellen.  I’m serious.”  Her own mask broke then, and he saw the same agonizing concern for him on her face that was always on Sam’s.  “I’m fine,” he barked.  “I just need to get out of town.  Whaddya got?”

 

He went out on the job.  He’d managed to talk her into giving him something actually dangerous, not just some stupid security-guard crap where he’d be bored to death with too much time to think.  It was a good thing the guy he was guarding was rich, because he’d apparently crossed every politician, lobbyist, and corporate conglomerate in the civilized world.  Hardly a night went by when Dean didn’t have something to do.  Apparently, word of the guy’s quality security spread, because one night, it wasn’t just three or four goons with guns, it was what must have been a dozen snipers, strategically placed.  Dean took cover when the first bullet hit the ground next to him, knowing from the way the bullet hit where it must have come from, but even so, the second grazed his face.  They were everywhere, on all sides.  He was done for.  Then he was on the ground, covering his ears, eyes shut tight, the night suddenly as bright as day, still barely able to hear the shouts of the snipers over the high-pitched sound.  When it was all over, rich guy’s house had its windows busted out and there were twenty-three unconscious men scattered around the grounds, whom the police carried away.  “Thanks, Cas,” Dean whispered.

 

It was nice to work, nice to have something to do, nice to get back into something like the kind of work he’d been brought up with.  Too bad he wasn’t protecting anything worth protecting.  He thought of Cas out there, doing angelic stuff, the only angel left in the world.  He was probably totally helping people.  That was so much more worthwhile than hanging out with Dean and not doing a whole lot except baking pies and making him happy, right?  Right.

 

A couple of days later, Dean’s cell phone rang--a number he hadn’t seen in a while.  He answered.  “Jimmy?  How you doin’?  Everything all right?”

 

“Dean, Castiel came to me today.”  He sounded kind of freaked out, like talking to the angel again had really shaken him up.  “He wanted me to deliver a message to you.  He’s worried about you.  He says he saw you, and you seem really, uh--”

 

“Got it.  I’ll take care of it.  He won’t bother you anymore.”

 

“But he really wanted me to give you the message--”

 

“I know what he was going to say.  How ’bout you?  You doin’ all right?”

 

“I’m ... okay, I guess.”

 

Dean just couldn’t bring himself to feel too sorry for anyone else’s suffering these days.  “Yeah?  Anything I can do?”

 

“No, I suppose not.  Thanks.”

 

“Anytime.  Thanks for giving me the message.  You don’t need to worry about it anymore.”

 

As soon as they hung up, Dean went up to the roof of his apartment building, and prayed to the only being he’d ever wanted to pray to.  “Castiel, uh ... I just talked to Jimmy, and he said you’re worried, but I’m okay.  I’m great.  Back on the job and everything.  Uh--guess I forgot about the dating thing, but I’ll get on that.  My job is a little dangerous, but you know that’s how I like it.  I’m the best there is; I’ll be fine.  You don’t need to worry about me.  You promised you wouldn’t, remember?  It’s all good.  You totally made the right choice--Jimmy’s much happier now.  Oh, and Sam and Virginia are good, they’re doing great, wedding’s next summer, a year after, uh ....”  A year after he and Cas met.  “Uh, so, don’t come to the wedding, I guess--you’d ruin it with all the window-smashing and everything--but ... I’ll take pictures and leave ’em up here for you or something, so you can look at ’em.  Thanks for saving my life.  I hope your life--er, your ... existence--is ... really happy and everything.  Just--don’t bug Jimmy anymore, okay, man?  He’s had about all he can take when it comes to angels.  If you really need to talk to me, I’m sure you can find a better way.  Hope you’re having a good time.  See ya.”

 

He felt much better after he did that.  He’d kind of figured Cas might be worrying despite his promise.  This way, Cas would only hear his words, he couldn’t look into his eyes and see the truth, and it would really set him free to go do his thing and stop thinking about Dean.  So what if Dean would never be the same again?  They’d done what they had to do.  Kind of seemed like Dean always got screwed in that arrangement, but whatever, he was used to it.  The stupid part had been ever believing it could be otherwise. 

 

He went on a few dates.  He even had sex with a couple of the girls he dated.  Boobs--sure was nice to see them again.  Maybe Cas was right; maybe he really was straight, at least when it came to everyone except Cas.  Somehow it was twice as weird to go back to being straight after deciding he must be gay than it had been to accept that he was gay in the first place.  On their dates, he would say all the right things, laugh at all the right moments, charm the pants off them--literally.  The girls probably thought it was a great date.  Then Dean just wouldn’t ever call again.  It was nothing against them.  Actually, he only called the ones he didn’t feel a thing for.  If he went on another date with one of the ones he kind of liked, then another date, they’d be on the way to opening that whole can of worms, and that wouldn’t be fair to anyone.  No one could follow that performance that Cas had played in his life.  Dean knew he was so broken upon his departure that the only thing that could heal him now was an angel.  The least he could do was not put some new person who was trying to have a real relationship with a decent guy in the hideous position of having to deal with him in this condition.  That had pretty much always been his policy, until Cas came along and made burdensome Dean seem weightless.  Things went back to the way they’d been before Cas came, just emptier and darker for knowing what it was like to feel fulfilled and light.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Spring was giving way to summer and Sam and Virginia were hard at work planning their wedding, so Dean assumed it was another call about his duties as best man when Sam called.  “What?” Dean answered the phone shortly.

 

“Dean, uh ... I think you’d better come home.”  He sounded anxious.

 

“The wedding isn’t for three weeks!”

 

“Yeah, but ... Jimmy’s missing.”

 

Fuck.  The one and only promise he’d made to Cas, and he’d already gone and fucked it up.  “Be right there.”

 

As soon as Ellen found a replacement for Dean, he was on his way back in the Impala, making calls, doing research on his laptop whenever he had to stop to eat.  Sam was helping from home.  Jimmy had stopped going to work or paying his bills three weeks ago.  Someone finally filed a missing persons report a little over a week ago when they went into his apartment and found it empty.  The sink was still running and he seemed in the middle of preparing a meal, but there were no signs of struggle, which led law enforcement to conclude it was a mental breakdown like the one his wife claimed he’d had a few years before--believing an angel wanted him for a vessel.  There were two images of him captured by video cameras: one of him standing motionless in a parking lot in their town three weeks ago--the stills taken by the camera every three minutes showed he’d stood there unmoving for well over five hours--and another, two days ago, of him gazing off a pier in Maine.  That was it.

 

Dean thought of how out of it Jimmy had been since Cas gave his body back to him.  A mental breakdown wasn’t out of the question.  Dean thought back on how Jimmy had hinted on the phone that he wasn’t doing so well, and kicked himself for not following up on it. 

 

It was bad timing, with the wedding, but there was nothing for it.  Dean headed to Maine while Sam continued to assist from home in between wedding preparations.  Poor Virginia.  Well, Sam had tried to warn her what she was getting into, marrying a Winchester.

 

The best part of any day was getting home--or in this case, to the hotel--so he could drink himself into oblivion.  It was much better when Sammy wasn’t around to give him a hard time about it.  It didn’t even get in the way of his research; sometimes in the morning, he found quite useful notes he’d made the night before to point him in the right direction as he began his next day’s work, searching for Jimmy.  He might not remember actually doing the research, but evidently he did it at least as well as when he was sober--better, maybe, open to possibilities he might not have otherwise considered, if he’d been thinking clearly.

 

He sat down with the laptop and a couple of bottles of whiskey on the table in front of him, and that was pretty much the last thing he remembered, until all of one bottle and most of the other was empty, and he looked up and saw Jimmy, standing in his room.  Dean tried to jump up, but his foot caught on the leg of the chair and he ended up falling into the wall.  Smooth.  He righted himself and staggered over to Jimmy.  “Jimmy!  There you are!  Where have you been, man?  We’ve been looking all over for you.”

 

“I am not Jimmy Novak,” he said.

 

“No?” said Dean, squinting at him.  If it wasn’t Jimmy, this dude looked fucking exactly like him.

 

“Dean,” he sighed softly, dozens of layers of meaning in just that one word, and then Dean knew who it was.  He almost threw himself on him that second and kissed him, but he still had enough wits about him to know better.  He tried to draw himself up and look more pulled together.  What did he look like?  What was he even wearing?  It could be anything.

 

“Hey--hey, Cas,” he slurred.  “Hey, am I dreaming?  Oh yeah, I told you if you needed me, you could find a better way to talk to me than ... than Jimmy, so I guess you ....  Jimmy’s missing!  I fucked up.  Fucked up so bad, that one thing you asked me to do.  God, I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry, Cas.”  He was babbling.  He couldn’t even remember past four words back in his soliloquy.  What had he just blurted out?  Ah, well; nothing for it now but to plunge on ahead.  “God, you’re so fucking beautiful.”

 

“Jimmy is not missing.  You did not fail.  I took him.”

 

“Seriously?  What a relief.  Where--where is he?  You want me to come pick ’im up?”

 

Cas tilted his head.  Oh, man, he had that same awful look of concern on his face as Sam and Virginia and Ellen and pretty much everyone else who knew him always had.  Dean wiped his face anxiously.  What was it, that Cas could see?  Was Dean dirty or sweating or something?  He sniffed himself surreptitiously.  “Jimmy is ... here,” Cas said.

 

“Cool, that’ll make it easy.  Hey, I went out on a few dates--I mean, several--several dates, just like you wanted me to.  Hot chicks.  I had sex with them.  Boobs.  Yeah.”  He kind of staggered forward.  Somehow, he found himself clutching Cas as tightly as he could, attempting to french kiss him.  Either his aim was pathetic, or Cas was resisting.  Oh, right, he’d left him.  It was bad form to try to french kiss someone who left you within two minutes of their return, especially when they had only come to deliver a message.  Whatever.  Holding him in his arms again, smelling him, it was all worth it, whatever Cas might think of him after this.

 

“Dean,” Cas whispered.

 

He put his hand on Dean’s head, and then Dean was suddenly, painfully stone-cold sober.  Well, this was awkward.  Dean let Cas go and took a couple of polite steps back.  Usually it was Cas who had the problem with personal space.  Oddly, it was harder to get his bearings sober than it had been while he was drunk.  “Cas?  Are you ... is this real?”  Information was hitting Dean faster than he was able to process.  He doubted he would be this much of a drunken loser even in his dreams, and this felt real, but if it was real, how could Cas look like Jimmy?  He looked up at Cas in awe ... and horror.  “Did you take Jimmy for a vessel again?!” 

 

Cas nodded softly.

 

“Come on, man, haven’t you done enough to that guy?!”

 

“He begged me.  It’s not unlike when you and I merged when I remade you: Jimmy and I merged when the gate was closed and I was trapped here in the world.  He grew accustomed to the great expansion of his consciousness, to an infinite mind, just as I settled into having a human body and came to enjoy human pleasures.  It seems it was not only I who benefitted from the association.  He was ... lost without me, as I was lost without him.  So we rejoined.  We are one now.”

 

Dean was still too stunned to really comprehend.  “That’s--that’s great,” was all he managed.  He was pretty sure his next thought was not the most appropriate next question, but it was the only thing he could think of.  “So, you ... you didn’t come back?”  Cas had his body back, and he didn’t come back to Dean?  On those rare occasions when Dean allowed himself a wild fantasy of Cas having Jimmy's vessel again, he figured--or anyway, he hoped--the very first thing Cas would do was run back to Dean.

 

“I thought perhaps, since you were dating, I thought ....  I hurt you so very badly, leaving you.  I thought it likely you would not want me back in your life since ... since I now understand hurting one’s partner, one’s lover, is inevitable.  You said you were doing well.  I see that you were lying.”

 

“Of course I was lying!” Dean snapped angrily.  “You-- you goddamn, crazy, beautiful son of a bitch.”  He shoved Cas backward so he fell on the bed.  Of course, he could have resisted Dean, but he was acquiescent, simply watching, as if he couldn’t fathom Dean’s reaction, which wasn’t a surprise since Dean couldn’t, either.  That wasn’t what he’d meant to say; that wasn’t what he’d meant to do.  “I want to kill you, but I--God, I’ve never loved anything more.”  He knew he would never try to hurt Cas, but he was sorely tempted to knock him around a little, and instead, he ended up straddling Cas on the bed, holding his head, kissing him hard.  “How could you ever fucking think I wouldn’t want you?!”  They kissed wildly, groping blindly on the bed.  Dean kept wiping his eyes furiously, eventually realizing he must be crying.  He was so angry, and so full of love, and so full of agony, he felt like his emotions were waves crashing over him from all sides and he was just fighting to breathe.  All the pain of the eight endless months without Cas, coming to this utterly unexpected, abrupt end, which was too good to be true, but kind of not good, because did Jimmy really want that?  Why hadn’t Cas come home sooner?  It didn’t matter.  They had sex with abandon and Dean was able to get lost in that like in a bottle of alcohol.  He didn’t have to think at all until it was over and he had spent some of that ocean of emotion ... yet already he was shaking Cas by the front of the shirt they’d been too frenzied to remove.  “Never leave me again, Cas!  Don’t you ever leave me again!”

 

“I promise,” said Cas, his eyes sincere and trusting and entirely the Cas that had been torn out of him along with his heart.  Dean broke down and wept like a child, the flood he’d been holding back these past eight months.  The depth of Cas’s regret and sorrow, so plain on his face, was heartbreaking.  Dean couldn’t bear it.  “I could take this pain from you,” Cas whispered, touching him tenderly.  “I could erase all these painful memories.”

 

“No!” Dean shouted raggedly.  “I want everything!  Everything good, everything bad, everything that ever happened with you is mine, you hear me?  Mine!”

 

Cas only nodded sadly and held him, in this infinite, terrible, beautiful, wonderful moment with Cas, back in his presence again at last, and it didn’t seem to matter if it lasted a second or an eternity as long as it was real.  “I have hurt you a great deal,” Cas said quietly at last.

 

“Ya think?”

 

“I searched the world, past, present, and future, while we were apart, for the secret to never hurting one’s lover, only to find to love is sometimes to trespass, upon their heart, their sovereignty, their happiness.  To love is to burden your beloved.  There is no way around it.” 

 

“It ain’t trespassing if there ain’t a fence, Cas.  You’ve got permission to roam freely.  You always did.  Whatever else you worry about, don’t you ever worry about that with me, you hear me?  I like it.  The trespassing is the best part.  Sam and I grew up in close quarters--real close quarters.  I mean, 24/7, usually a foot away from each other in the back of the Impala.  The shit I’ve done for that kid ....  It’s like you and Jimmy: it brings you closer in the end, makes you more one person.  Can you handle being human, Cas?  I’ve gotta know right now.  I can’t lose you again, not ever.”

 

Cas nodded slowly.  “It may be difficult, but ... yes, I think so.  If I can’t, I’ll die by your side.  I won’t leave you.”

 

Dean clutched his shirt, pressing his forehead into Cas’s chest.  “We’ll find a way,” he whispered.  “If something’s too heavy for you, you just let it go.  I’ll take care of you.  Don’t worry about anything.”

 

“Dean,” Cas murmured softly.  “I worry more that the burden of me will be too heavy on you, that the weight of an angel is too great for a human.”

 

“You make everything light, Cas.  It was you going away that was so heavy.  Just you going away.”  So heavy, it almost crushed him.  He’d been trying to stay awake all this time, but it had been a big day, and he was starting to hallucinate a little: that he could see Cas’s halo, that Cas’s wings were huge and plainly visible and shining white and gold and every color, that Cas looked exactly like Jimmy and also not a bit like him, but rather like some inhumanly beautiful being that radiated compassion and love on a visible spectrum, as plain as words on a page that Dean could almost read.  Dean’s eyes were closing.  “Don’t ever leave me again,” he murmured, then again, not sure if the words had actually made it past his lips the first time.  He was saying it again as he fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

 

There was something hilarious about seeing Cas riding around in the passenger seat of the Impala, his impassive expression as he looked out the open window, hair blown back, nevertheless somehow looking as eager to see the world going by as a dog hanging out the window with its tongue flapping in the wind.  The picture was made the more hilarious by the untouched stick of beef jerky he held like a wand in his hand that Dean had insisted on buying him at the last gas station. 

 

“I’m still pissed at you, you know,” Dean informed him roughly.

 

“You have made that clear.”

 

“How could you think I wouldn’t want you back the second you had a body, Cas--that second??”

 

“I remain aware of your feelings on the matter.  You can rest assured that after hearing you repeat this now fifty-seven times, I will never forget it.  Angels remember forever.”

 

“So how could you EVER think--?”

 

“Human feelings continually vacillate and shift.  Nonetheless, it has by now been thoroughly impressed upon me that you feel very strongly about this and that your feelings are highly unlikely to ever be different; thus, my first assumption will be that nothing has changed, whatever the circumstances.”

 

“Good!  Good.  You remember that.”

 

“As I just said, angels remember forever.  I would be unable to forget it even under the greatest duress.”

 

Dean couldn’t help cracking up, just like he hadn’t been able to hide the huge grin he’d been wearing all day, since he woke up in Cas’s arms that morning, the first day his first feeling upon waking hadn’t been that pain hitting him in the gut.  Cas had infinite patience for this conversation, even though as he kept pointing out, it had been a little repetitive.  Cas even seemed, on some level, to be enjoying it, which was explained when he had a thought, looked at Dean with what seemed to be excitement, and said, “Is this a fight?  Would you say this is our first fight?”

 

Dean sighed happily.  A fight!  If you could call it that.  Not that he planned on fighting with Cas if he could help it, but fights meant you were communicating, and communicating meant you were together.  Cas was here, he was really here.  “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

 

“Ah.  How am I doing?”

 

“Good.  I’d say you’re winning, except that I feel like I’m winning, too.”

 

Cas looked very satisfied.  “That seems ideal.”

 

“Yeah.”  Dean reached out and took Cas’s hand, smiling at him.  Cas smiled back, looking almost human there, all windblown in a t-shirt.  Early summer, the very best roadtripping time: not too hot yet, but warm enough for short sleeves.  Sunny and beautiful, green grass and blue skies.  “This is great, isn’t it?  Just like me and Sammy in the old days.  You like being on the road?  We could take off and go wherever you want, any time.”

 

Cas considered.  “I look forward to getting back to my job, if Ellen will rehire me.  And, of course, first, there will be Sam and Virginia’s wedding.”

 

“Yeah, you’re a groomsman, what do you think about that?”

 

“I don’t know what’s expected of me.”

 

“Pretty much just standing around looking pretty, I guess.  I have to give a speech and everything, and I think I heard something about buying a ring or looking after a ring or putting a ring somewhere ....  Something like that.  Don’t worry--if I can do it, you can.”

 

“It doesn’t sound like you can do it.”

 

Dean shrugged.  “Well, pretty much no matter how I screw it up, they’ll be married at the end of it, so I’m not too worried.”

 

“You said I would ruin the wedding.”

 

“You heard me, when I prayed?”

 

“Of course.  I heard you often.”

 

Uh-oh.  “How often?”

 

“As often as I could bear to.”

 

Dean squeezed his hand tightly involuntarily.  It hurt him to know Cas had also suffered while they were apart, even as it kind of made him feel better to know at least it wasn’t just Dean who had.  “Well ...,” Dean blustered over the sudden somber mood that had settled over him, “I reserve the right to ruin my little brother’s wedding, if anybody’s gonna.”

 

“You do seem the most likely candidate.”

 

Dean laughed.  There was a long, contented silence.  Then, out of the blue, and wounded:

 

“You did not eat my pies.”

 

“Why’d you do all that work if you could just make it happen all along?!”

 

“I heard love was the secret ingredient.  I was trying to figure out how to--”

 

“You don’t need to worry about that; I’m sure they’d have plenty of love in ’em no matter what.”

 

“I was also trying to be more human.”

 

“I thought that might be it.  Actually, uh ... we were planning on baking them for the wedding.  If that sounds all right to you.”

 

Cas’s face lit up.  “That’s a wonderful idea.”

 

“But only a few.  I’m sure I can finish off the rest before the fall, when we’ll make a bunch more ... right?”  All the joy that should have come from that fall’s harvest.  They’d missed it.  Then again, that was the great thing: they had another shot.  From now on, they would always have another shot, because they had the future.

 

~ The End ~

**Author's Note:**

> -I love love love writing characters like Cas, who see the world from a different perspective than other people, I guess because I do, too. I love that Dean loves how weird he is along with everything else about him.
> 
> -I have a friend who's a new dad, and that part where Sam first tastes pie at 10 months is based on a story this friend told me about his baby when he accidentally dribbled some KitKat crumbs on his lips--the baby reacted just like that, and it was just too freakin' cute not to include in a story.
> 
> -This story now has a sequel called "Union." You can find it on my list of works, or at this URL: http://archiveofourown.org/works/713990


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